


Encounter

by timehopper



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Lap Sex, Lapdance, Undercover Missions, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 01:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timehopper/pseuds/timehopper
Summary: Sombra goes undercover at a club, looking to get some intel on Overwatch while they're on a mission. She ends up getting more than she bargained for.





	Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> A "request" for Kinktober Day 24: Lap dancing. Lap dances are honestly fascinating. But they're, uh, not the best thing to be researching in a public cafe.

Overwatch is supposed to be here. There's a big deal going down in this club tonight between a local triad and another prominent gang, one that’s been rumoured recently to be dealing in human trafficking. Sombra had been doing a bit of digging into these groups herself, and during one of her searches she'd come across some interesting communications. New ‘business associates’ with sketchy names and even sketchier connections, almost all of which turned out to be fake with enough digging. There was no way Overwatch wasn't involved - their stink was all over this case.

Their involvement made sense. They were here to get both the gangs and kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. But Sombra was here to kill three.

She picks up the tray from the bar counter and carries it across the club’s noisy floor. Overwatch is here in disguise, obviously, but because she knows what she’s looking for, Sombra is able to catch on to their presence pretty quick. She spots one of them, the cyborg, talking to someone at a table. His disguise is pretty good tonight - the sick mask hiding his actual mask is the only real giveaway (well, that and the scars peeking out from beneath it). She heads over there, ready to offer him a drink, but he turns and walks the other way before she even gets close.

Sombra pauses to debate following after him, but thankfully she's spared the effort when she realizes just who the cyborg had been talking to.

He looks completely different without his cowboy hat, but that is unmistakably Jesse McCree sitting at that table, legs spread wide and arm around the back of the chair like he owns the damn place. He wears a dark red shirt under a sleek leather jacket, its v-neck dipping low enough she can see his chest hair peeking out from beneath it. His hair is brushed back out of his face - not quite slicked back, but there's definitely some kind of product in it. His beard is trimmed, too, and he looks… good. Groomed. It's weird, seeing him like this, but there’s no way she’s got the wrong guy: he's got the same air about him as the mercenary cowboy she’d seen on the news and posters. Or maybe it's just the cigar hanging out of his mouth that gives him away.

The lights in the club flash off the expensive watch McCree wears. He checks it quickly and mumbles something to himself, leg bouncing in anticipation, before looking up and meeting Sombra’s eye.

“Hope that's for me,” McCree says, eyeing the drink. His posture relaxes immediately when Sombra looks at it, then at him, and smirks.

“It's not, but I can let you have it anyway if you don't mind a bit of company,” she says.

McCree must like that response, because he flashes a white smile at Sombra and waves her over. “Anything you like, sweetheart.”

Sombra strides over, hips swaying like the stripper-server she’s posing as. The effect is only accentuated by the cut of her too-short shorts, the hem of which rides up over the curve of her ass. She makes sure to bend real low when she sets the drink on McCree’s table and to straighten up slowly, eyes lingering over his body as she goes. When she’s up all the way, she meets his eye - after his gaze crawls up her body, that is.

 _Good_ , Sombra thinks. _He’s interested._

“So what brings you here tonight?” she asks. Sombra already knows what the answer is, of course, but it wouldn’t do to tip her hand just yet. She’s here for intel, and she’s not going to get it if she isn’t careful. “Lonely?”

“Not anymore, now I’ve got you to keep me company.” McCree laughs and gestures to the table with an open palm. “Why don’t you take a seat, sweetheart?”

“Can’t, I’m on the clock.” She makes sure to throw a longing look in his direction. It works like a charm, and McCree pouts up at her cutely, but hollowly - he’s acting just as much as she is. For now.

“So what you’re sayin’ is you’re paid company.” He makes a show of looking disappointed. “Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. How much to keep you here?”

Sombra casts a look around herself, checking over her shoulder for anyone working that might be nearby. The closest person is stationed at one of the many dancing poles, and she’s far too invested in hoisting herself up and spinning on it to be paying any attention to Sombra or her clientele.

“For you? Free,” Sombra says, moving to sit in McCree’s lap. She wraps her arms around his neck and he instinctively brings a hand up to her back to keep her steady. “But only because I like you.”

“Lucky me.” McCree inclines his head, flashing a wickedly charming grin at Sombra. She feels her heart flutter a little bit, but quickly chides herself for it. She’s supposed to be seducing _him_ , not the other way around.

They sit like that for a while, chatting idly as Sombra plays with McCree’s hair. His hand rubs at Sombra’s back absently, sending warm shivers through her with every motion of his hand. She almost wishes she were wearing more clothes, because the feel of his hand against her bare skin is almost too much. Almost.

“You know, something about you seems familiar,” McCree says suddenly. He leans forward to put out his cigar on the ashtray on the table. “You sure we ain’t met before?”

“In your dreams, maybe,” Sombra says, and immediately cringes internally. She can’t believe she actually said something as stupid as that out loud. But it seems to have the right effect on McCree anyway; he laughs and pulls Sombra closer to him.

“You got that right,” he says. “Now what say we make this even more like my dreams?”

It’s cheesy as hell, but the implications in the low, honeyed tone of his voice make Sombra’s skin tingle. She squirms in McCree’s lap, adjusting her posture to allow more contact. McCree keeps rubbing at her back, hand creeping lower and lower with every stroke. Between that and the friction of his jeans against her exposed thighs, Sombra can barely contain herself. She’s oversensitive and far more aroused than she’d like to admit.

But, well. She isn’t the only one.

She can feel a telltale hardness press against her rear as she shifts in McCree’s lap. It twitches when she grinds down on it, but McCree keeps talking, keeps acting as if nothing’s happening, like he isn’t noticeably hard. He’s in the middle of a story (no doubt made up) about a rough day he’d had at work -something about a meeting with the board of whatever going poorly, but he’s still going to get his bonus. But it’s right on the word ‘bonus’ that Sombra decides she’s had enough. She presses a finger to McCree’s lips to silence him.

“Not that this isn’t fascinating,” she says, “But I know something even more fun we could do.”

McCree raises an eyebrow and waits, clearly curious about where this is going to go (not that there are many places it could in the middle of a strip club). Sombra rises from his lap slowly, practically dragging herself off him. When she’s up, she leans forward, puts her hands on his knees, and smirks at him. McCree seems to catch on right away, and he leans back to make himself comfortable.

Sombra spreads McCree’s knees open. She begins to rotate her hips, hands creeping further up his thighs as she gets marginally closer. McCree cranes his neck to peer around her and watch the fluid movement of her hips until Sombra suddenly drops into a squat. She keeps moving even as she’s down low, but this time her upper body sways in time with her hips, smooth and serpentine.

“Damn,” McCree mumbles under his breath. His fingers twitch with the urge to touch, but he knows better: he lets Sombra move, lets her dictate the pace.

And she does, slowly standing up again. She spins on her toes, turning to face away from McCree. She doesn't look at him as she begins to sway her hips again, moving them in small circles just barely hovering over his crotch. She can feel McCree move behind her, can see his arms move just out of her peripheral vision: he looks like he's going to try to touch her again, but again he holds back. It's a shame, really, but Sombra is ultimately glad for it. She's loving the effect she's having on him - she loves having this little bit of power, even if it's only temporary.

She bends over again, hands on her own knees this time, and slides down low. It's a little silly if she thinks about it, since she's basically shoving her ass in his face, but McCree obviously doesn't mind; she can hear him groan, quietly and appreciatively, over the music. So maybe he isn't so quiet after all.

When Sombra straightens up, she leans back to sit on McCree's lap again. She still doesn't face him though, just grinds her hips down against his crotch and undulates, rolling every inch of her upper body. McCree groans again and she feels his hips roll up into hers. His cock drags against her ass and, when she moves just right, over the barely-clothed outline of her pussy. This time Sombra moans, throwing her head back and grinding down harder.

She hears - feels - McCree laugh, a vibration from deep in his chest. "Don't lose it now," he mumbles. "It's just starting to get good."

"Never," Sombra says, and she twists her body around, spins in McCree's lap, and arches her back, exposing the long expansive stretch of her torso. She doesn't miss the way McCree's eyes hungrily roam over her skin and come to rest on her cleavage, just barely contained by the short, low-cut top she's wearing. She'd been a little unsure about basically wearing a bra and nothing else to ‘work,’ but it turns out to be paying off way more than she ever would have anticipated.

She straightens up and shifts again, moving so one of her legs is on either side of McCree’s lap. She drops and rises again, moving in circles, getting low enough to rub herself against the bulge in his jeans for a brief second before coming back up. She has to bite down a moan every time they come close enough to touch; for a time, Sombra wonders if she's trying to tease McCree or tease herself.

But she keeps going, keeps dancing for him. Sombra's hands come to McCree's shoulders and she presses down on them, using him for leverage as she slides her legs back over his thighs so she can kneel between them again. She squats down low, resting on the balls of her feet, and runs her hands over his thighs, petting them up and down as she moves forward and back, arching her body close to his - so close she can feel heat radiating off McCree. Her breasts brush against his inner thighs and they both shudder, warm and oversensitive and wanting – no, _needing_ more.

But she can't take more - not here, not yet. Not with so many people around, even though she desperately wants to take this a step further. And by the look on McCree's face, he wants to, too.

Sombra leans forward one more time, hips still swaying, but this time she goes just that little bit further, and she presses her lips to the clothed tip of his dick. And that’s the last thing she does before stopping, looking up smugly into his eyes.

“Is that it?” McCree asks, voice shaky and weak. It’s a good sound on him.

"On the clock," Sombra reminds him with a wink. "Unless you'd rather take this somewhere more private?"

"How much?" McCree asks, breathless and without a second’s hesitation. He must want this more than Sombra had thought.

"I told you. For you, it's free." She stands up and grabs his hand, lifting him up and tugging him along behind her as she makes her way to the stairs at the back of the club. She leads him up them, to the private rooms, and throws him into the first one she can find that's unoccupied. She slams the door shut and locks it, and without another word, pounces on McCree.

He divests her of what little clothing she still wears, top and shorts being thrown unceremoniously on the floor. When Sombra tries to take off his jacket, McCree stops her with his hands on hers, pinning them in place. In the back of her hazy, lust-fueled mind, Sombra thinks that he's probably trying to hide the gun tucked into the back of his pants, so she doesn't push, doesn't press the issue - she doesn't want to let on that she knows why he's really here. Instead, she yanks her hands free of his grip and sets to work on his pants, unbuckling his belt and tearing the fly open to free his cock.

Sombra wastes no time in getting it inside her. She sits on it, legs straddling McCree's like she had been mere minutes ago. Her hips rock back and forth as she tries to continue the lapdance she had been giving him, but it's much less graceful and much more desperate now that she can feel his generous girth pressing up inside of her.

"Fuck," she breathes, leaning back and tossing her hair over her shoulder. With a few more thrusts, Sombra finds just the right angle and she stays there, grinding down on McCree's dick until she comes on it, moaning and crying out at the overwhelming pleasure of his cock inside her, of his hands roaming all over her arms, her sides, her ass, her breasts.

She breathes heavily and tries to rock against McCree even through her orgasm in a valiant attempt to prolong it. McCree's hips are moving now too, bucking up into her, clearly trying to follow her over the edge. He can't, not until Sombra finally re-gathers herself after such an intense orgasm. When she does, it only takes him a matter of seconds.

McCree pushes Sombra off himself and takes his dick in his hands, pumping it the last few strokes to completion. He grunts and groans as he comes in bursts, splashing Sombra's stomach and thighs with it. It's a miracle he doesn't get any on his expensive jeans, but somehow, he manages.

Sombra clambers off him when McCree finally catches his breath. The room is well-stocked with tissues and towels, so she brings some over to help clean McCree off after wiping herself down first. She tosses everything they use into the empty bin in the corner of the room, then climbs back up to sit on McCree's lap. Right where she belongs, it seems.

"How was that?" Sombra asks, bringing a hand up to stroke his beard.

"Jesus," is all McCree can say for a moment. He slowly tries to compose himself, but only manages to get halfway there. "Almost regret not payin' up now. That was worth way more than a freebie."

"You can get me next time," Sombra says. She leans in close and kisses his ear, whispering against it, "I'm off in an hour. If you're still around..."

She knows he won't be. She doesn't plan to wait up for him. But she leaves the offer open, just in case.

"Right," McCree says. "If I’m around. But if not…"

"Then don’t worry about it." Sombra grins. "This is more than enough to remember you by."

It’s a little sad, thinking that this is all she’s going to get tonight. But her mission is far from over, and there will be other chances to get more intel on Overwatch. Lots more, if they all go like tonight has.

Sombra stands. "I'll leave you to it," she says, flicking his nose before standing up to get dressed. She can feel McCree's eyes on her as she pulls on first her top, then her shorts. She walks to the door, but before she leaves, Sombra turns around to wink at McCree over her shoulder. "Until next time, amigo," she says. "Adios."

"Adios." McCree waves her off with a salute, still sitting down and watching Sombra as she leaves the room.

Tonight had not gone as planned at all. Sombra hadn't gotten any intel on McCree, or any of Overwatch, really. But somehow, she still doesn't consider this a loss.

Sombra smiles to herself as she leaves the club. She may have failed this time, but there's always next time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and would like to see more, have a chat, or find out how to support me, please check out my twitter [@tim3hopp3r](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r) or follow my writing blog [@intim3ate](https://intim3ate.tumblr.com), where I post progress, WIPs, and take requests.
> 
> If you would like to find out how to support me, I have a handy list of links right [here](https://twitter.com/tim3hopp3r/status/1122210346939244544). Please check it out! I wouldn't be able to do this without people like you supporting me. ♥
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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